


At the Siege of Ungar

by Thimblerig



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Military, Gen, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It was never meant for a fortress.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But the shifting front of a long war meant that Ungar Summer Palace, a toy-box of pearlescent stone perched in the hills, had been retasked into, first, an outpost, and then a strong shoulder of the war. Toiling up the winding hill road, recently widened and all-over mud in the autumn weather, Jain eyed it thoughtfully: the delicate arches, the eggshell dome, the curling ornamentation of the walls blended jarringly with the heavy beam-and-stone of the extensions. She had a sudden vision of a maiden in a dancing gown, arms solid with wiry muscle, brandishing a battle axe.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the Siege of Ungar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edonohana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/gifts).



> Just realised there was a category for original fic here. Crossposted from my LJ, to keep things together.

It was never meant for a fortress.  
  
But the shifting front of a long war meant that Ungar Summer Palace, a toy-box of pearlescent stone perched in the hills, had been retasked into, first, an outpost, and then a strong shoulder of the war. Toiling up the winding hill road, recently widened and all-over mud in the autumn weather, Jain eyed it thoughtfully: the delicate arches, the eggshell dome, the curling ornamentation of the walls blended jarringly with the heavy beam-and-stone of the extensions. She had a sudden vision of a maiden in a dancing gown, arms solid with wiry muscle, brandishing a battle axe. **  
**

She was alone in the caravan of supplies and troops: her class of drafted specialists had mostly wangled positions elsewhere, in the cities and command posts, somewhere, at least, that would be warm for the winter. But promotions relied on connections, money, combat experience. Jain lacked a surfeit of the first two and had come here for a guarantee of the latter, with a crisp new commission in one pocket and transfer orders clutched in her sweaty hand. The short, wide logistics officer at the gate raised bushy eyebrows reading them and said, "Better you than me. Good hunting."  _Huh?_  As she followed a page to - the dome? - Jain hurriedly flicked through her transfer orders and reread the codes. She hadn't been attached to the fort after all, but -

"Mage-Specialist Jain?" A black-haired youth saluted crisply. "I am Sergeant Aariquel, 95th Airborne, Green Division. My squad has been assigned to your support and protection." Her flight leathers had been altered - the sleeves removed entirely and what remained buckled tight over a slender torso and hips. Aariquel had made a concession to the cold and allowed an olive-drab knit jersey and leggings underneath. She stood at ease, lightly balanced with the weight on the balls of her feet, very still, though the dappled-fawn wings that sprang from her back rustled slightly. Jain towered over her - she fought the urge to curl in her shoulders, to apologise for her height and her beaky nose, the length of bone in her arms. She pulled herself straight.

"Have you worked with flyers before?" The sergeant's voice was improbably deep for her size; she sounded herself like a drum.

Jain shook her head. "The university at Anjo, then I apprenticed in the desert hub. It was very flat: no crows - ah, I mean  _flyers_."

If the sergeant was offended by the nickname, she did not show it. "It is very safe, travelling with us." She furrowed straight black brows and clarified. "We never drop anyone."

"There's been a break!" somebody cried, as a bell began to ring. "South-east!"

The sergeant's head came up, like a dog scenting blood. Her clear grey eyes strayed to another squad of flyers tumbling through the aerie built out of Ungar's central dome. They chattered and jostled each other, still buckling their jerkins and stringing their recurved bows. One yellow-haired youth yawned and scratched the back of his head as his darker sister sprang onto his shoulders and then into the air, her ivory wings opening with a crack.

Aariquel said, finally, "Two days of training manoeuvres are mandatory. To protect valuable military personnel. It is the Regulation."

Jain considered. "We could... perform mandatory training manoeuvres in a south-easterly direction?"

Aariquel tipped her head. "We could, Mage-Specialist." The corner of her mouth curled up.

Which is how Jain found herself wrapped in a voluminous leather coat and strapped into an observer's trapeze drawn into the sky by a quartet of winged teenagers. She prayed that she would not turn out to be prone to airsickness. It was cold in the air, bitter, and either quiet or loud. Or perhaps the roaring in her ears was just her breath, and the beat of her heart. They gained height over the hills rapidly; Jain's ears popped and she swallowed hard.

After a time the sergeant dropped down to Jain's eye-level, and hovered, wings working furiously.  _Ten minutes,_  her hands signed.  _All well?_

_Well,_  Jain signed back, her hands stiff still with the military signs. Aariquel frowned and reached for Jain's hands, peeling back the mittens to check each finger. She frowned again at the heat that came from them. Jain grinned sharply.  _Mage._  Aariquel's eyes widened, enlightened, and she beamed. Then she reached in and adjusted Jain's high collar to cover her nose and mouth better. The veteran of nine pitched engagements was a mother hen, apparently. The sergeant signed  _Well_  herself and shot upwards. Jain followed the flight and realised that her carriers had switched shifts while she was distracted with the sergeant. They were smooth, well-practiced at this.

She should, she knew, be rehearsing her spells, turning over in her mind's eye the glyphs of vermillion and azure, but she was, frankly, distracted by the view, the green of the hills among the rocks, the tumbling water!

Beyond them, dark against the clouds, the grey shoulder of a mountain moved, heaved. Even in the air she felt it as a great clawed foot stretched out to the ground, a leathery wing darkened the sun in its opening and the eye, the eye -  _no topaz as yellow no forest fire as burning_  -

Aariquel dropped to eye-level again, blocking the sight. Her hands shaped the very prosaic,  _Vanguard sighted; engage/disengage?_  Jain drew in two shuddering breaths, and then signed back,  _Engage on discretion._

Flocks of the flyers were already moving in, tiny dots against the sweep of the sky, their arrows mere specks.  _Distract and deflect,_  Aariquel had explained as they moved out,  _bait and move._  Flyers were skirmishers by nature, unable to take a dragon vanguard head on. But they could annoy it enough that it would not think to fly; they could buy time and ground for the defenders of Ungar to deal with it and what followed. And now, of course, they had a warmage.

_This is what I came for,_  thought Jain to herself.  _This is why I was made._

She reached her hands into the sky and pulled down thunder.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ... hunting the wabbit, hunting the WABBIT...


End file.
